


Making Amends

by delorita, SilverFountains



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Battle of Five Armies, Established Relationship, Everybody Lives, Forgiveness, Friendship/Love, Gold Sickness, How The Hobbit should have ended!, Injury, Kissing, M/M, Making Love, Making Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:31:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3824137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delorita/pseuds/delorita, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFountains/pseuds/SilverFountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Follow on from Inseparable.</p><p>An alternative ending to the Battle of the Five Armies, starting from the conversation between Thorin and Dwalin in the throne room of Erebor. Everybody lives and Thorin has some serious making up to do when they all come out of the other end of the greatest battle Arda has seen for centuries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Amends

**Author's Note:**

> Thorin and Kili written by LadyLuna  
> Dwalin and Fili written by delorita

Thorin sinks down heavily onto the throne of his ancestors. Dwalin had been completely out of order. How dared he speak to him like that! No matter what was between them, what _had_ been between them, he was the king now and he demanded respect from those around him, whether they were his subjects, his kin or so much more still.

But he regrets the poisonous words spoken in anger nonetheless. It feels like his old self is watching from afar, wanting to stop those words and yet unable to. Worst of all, he knows his threat had not been in vain when he had told Dwalin to leave him or else … He knows he would put action to words, he knows the evil inside him would defend the gold hoard against anyone, even those he loves.

_The Durin curse …. The madness of my grandfather … GOLD SICKNESS!_

He drags himself to his feet, nauseated, hot and sweaty all over. _No! I am NOT my grandfather!_

The world feels like it is falling in on him.

_I have fought for this! I have risked everything for this! This is my right! Every sliver of gold ore is MY RIGHT! And I will not risk it for the life of ONE DWARF!_

Dwalin had appeared calm through his exchange with Thorin. Yet he’d never felt that utterly disturbed inside before. That lost. The threat with which Thorin, his king, his _lover,_ had send him away is like an icy storm all over him, through him. The _hatred_ in his normally loyal eyes. The way he chose that damn gold over all his people, his nephews even, chills Dwalin to the bone and he does not know what to do. He slowly walks back toward the company. Head bowed in defeat, heart hurting unimaginably.

He had seen this coming though. Ever since Thorin took his first step back into Erebor the gold sickness had started to cloud his sharp mind piece by piece. A deep fog surrounding him and killing his good judgement. Making enemies where there should not be any.

Completely forgetting his lover and soulmate.

Dwalin’s steps fall slow and heavy onto the stone.

Kili exchanges a worried look with his brother when Dwalin returns to them, without Thorin. The look on his face, his normally proud and strong stance now hunched, tells him enough that the meeting with Thorin did not go well at all.

He hesitates for the briefest moment, knowing the relationship breakdown between Dwalin and his uncle is about so much more than just king and guard, more than friends even. But then he makes a decision and strides towards the burly dwarf. “You have to go back. You are the only one who can convince him, Dwalin. The only one who can shake him out of this!”

Dwalin shakes his head, devastated. “No son, not this time.” Dwalin can barely hear his own voice. “Not this time. I am afraid we are on our own now.” He swallows harshly, looking towards Fili, the heir.     

“No!” Kili grabs Dwalin’s forearm, both staring at his hand in shock. He is tempted to pull it away again just as fast, but he holds his nerve and he leans even closer to his uncle’s tall guard, urging, “You cannot give up on him now. Dwalin, it is not _him!_ It’s the gold. _This_ place. Please, I beg of you! He loves you …”

“Dwalin, please.” Fili’s intense gaze bores through him.

“It clearly was not our Thorin Oakenshield. This one threatened to kill me… _our Thorin_ would have never done that.” Dwalin whispers, a tear rolling across his cheek.

Fili can only gasp, the heavy grief he already feels in his heart increasing tenfold.

Kili looks incredulously from Dwalin to Fili. He can feel a shiver run down his spine and swallows hard. “Then _I_ will talk to him,” he says stubbornly. “I will not stand here and watch everything he has fought for, _we_ have fought for, be destroyed like this!”

“We might do better out there in battle then in here, waiting for him for no reason. He is truly lost to us.” Dwalin hates to say this out loud, but Thorin’s cold, dead eyes had held nothing whatsoever for his company anymore. Nor Durin’s folk. All Dwalin could see in there now was _MY GOLD!_

“What’d ya say, Prince Fili?” Dwalin bows before the blond heir as he would have before Thorin.

 _I do not know,_ Fili thinks and swallows harshly. He knows this would have been coming. But he had hoped not so soon. But with Thorin down there among all that cursed gold he was expecting to do it. To take responsibility. To truly be the heir to the throne. One that is not cursed with gold sickness.

“We cannot abandon our own kind in battle.” He says in a harsh, unfamiliar voice, even to his own ears. He looks from his beloved brother to Dwalin and all the others in turn. Just as he wants to say more he sees Thorin slowly emerge again from the depths of the mountain.

Dwalin holds his breath. A tiny shred of hope flickers inside of him when he realizes that Thorin has shed the damn crown and heavy cloak.  

Kili is the first to rush over the moment Thorin emerges, determination set in his features although worry and grief lie close to the surface. “I will not hide behind a wall of stone while others fight our battles for us! It is not in my blood, Thorin,” he utters with a mixture of anger, pride, fear and sobbed sadness.

All hold their breath as the king walks up to his youngest nephew with determination in his stride, some even moving their hand to their weapons, worried for the brunet prince’s safety at the hands of their now unpredictable leader.

But Thorin does not appear to wish to punish Kili for his accusatory words when he stops before him. “No, it is not. We are sons of Durin. And Durin’s folk do not flee from a fight.” And a genuine if not sad smile appears around his lips as he gazes into his nephew’s eyes; his heart filling with love and pride for his sister-sons who have upheld his honour even when the illness of their line had gripped him.

Kili’s worry slowly transforms into an emotional smile. _Yes!_ he nods. _Oh thank Mahal, you are back!_ He cannot say it as his throat feels thick with emotions, but he does not need to tell Thorin with words as his uncle puts his hand on his shoulder and then reverently bumps their foreheads together.

Thorin smiles even more when Fili wriggles his way into the embrace also, the strength of his second in command as easily surrendered to wanting to still be the heir, not the king just yet. "You are brave," he whispers into blond hair. "And loyal. They would have followed you without hesitation."

“They would have.” _But I am so relieved that we have our uncle back._

Dwalin is stunned at Thorin’s sudden complete change of mind. It looks like his love, Thorin Oakenshield, his true king is back. He smiles from a few steps away at the Durin embrace, his heart warming.

Thorin gives his nephews one more squeeze before he releases the embrace and his eyes fall on Dwalin. He swallows hard to release the lump in his throat and push back the tears that are filling his eyes. “Can you forgive me, my brother? My love?” he says quietly, knowing that he does not deserve Dwalin’s forgiveness for the hurt he had caused him, for the venomous words spoken.

Dwalin only needs one look into those expressive eyes to know for certain that his beloved king is back. He only needs to hear that deep, warm voice, without any trace of the hurtful snarling, to know he can trust Thorin again. He puts his forehead against his, in the same gesture as Thorin had done with Kili and croaks, "Yes, my king." Not daring to do more in front of the others.

“I do not deserve to hear that title from you,” Thorin shakes his head, pressing his nose against his lover’s. “I have dishonoured your devotion to me. _Ashgamruki. Itlige.”_

Dwalin feels tears prick at the back of his eyes. He didn’t think he would be that close to Thorin ever again. He grabs his biceps. “ _Khalumâ. Atlagi astû.”_

Then he locks gazes with his lover.

He knows they cannot stay in this bubble forever. The battle is going on outside, fellow dwarrow dying. “We should be out there,” he murmurs .

“Yes,” Thorin sighs, feeling guilt ridden now at the thought of his people out there, fighting to defend their kingdom without their king. He knows he has some more grovelling to do as he walks up to his loyal companions, Dwalin and his nephews at his back. “I have no right to ask this of any of you …” he says, head held high as their leader, but regret and shame clear in his eyes. “But will you follow me one last time?” He half expects them to turn their back, not for lack of their loyalty, but of his own, for who would follow a king who has brought such shame, who has turned on such loyal dwarrow after all they had endured for him.

Dwalin wonders how the others will react. Prays they’ll see, just as he did, that their true king is back. That Thorin has defeated his demon inside on his own, in his very private battle.

Fili holds his head high, knowing he can trust his uncle again. And he wants to show that to the others too, encourage them to follow their now responsible leader into battle. _Not one last time though. There may be many more times to come to follow him._

Kili opens his mouth, ready to defend his uncle, his king, to stand by him and to tell the others what he had told Thorin; that he will _not_ let others fight this battle for him! But he does not need to tell them any of this for without any deliberation each member of the faithfully company of Thorin Oakenshield raises their weapon to their king.

Thorin blinks away the tears in his eyes at this united display of unquestionable loyalty to him, to the House of Durin. And he raises his own sword to his followers, shouting with passion that resonates deep in his core, “ _Baruk Khazâd_!”

“ _Baruk Khazâd_!” Dwalin roars at the top of his lungs, swings his axes and finally wants to join his brethren in battle, wants to defend their kingdom and newborn king. _I will die for him if I must, defending him with my body and life._

Fili is just the same. They have waited so long for this, trained all their lives to prove worthy in war. He juggles his swords in his hands, ready to attack.

Thorin quickly falls into the role of commander, sending Bombur onto the battlements to sound the battle horn to let their brethren know that help is at hand. The others he sends to follow Dwalin, to raise the alarm bell to its highest point as a means to break through the barricade that only a few days ago he had ordered to be put up in front of the gates.

When his companions have scattered to carry out his orders he turns to his nephews. They stare back at him with excitement, with fierce determination, not even a hint of fear or doubt in their eyes. And he smiles at them with the pride of both a king and a father figure. “Ready?”

“Ready!” Kili almost jumps in the air, his sword raised high above his head. This is the moment they had been trained for, the moment they had dreamt of but had only been able to fantasize about up until now. He looks to his brother, grinning from ear to ear.

“Ready!! _Damummâ rakhâs bintargul!”_ Fili beams at his brother and then at his uncle. “I am so glad you are back.” _You scared me to death with your gold sickness, behaving so much not like yourself._ He doesn’t dare to say that out loud. There is no time for this anyway right now.

“Me too,” Thorin gives Fili a curt, but warm nod before he strides towards the entrance hall, ready to lead his company and all of those who have come to his aid to wipe that filth of the face of arda once and for all.

+++

Thorin tries to open his eyes but they feel like they have been soldered shut. He hears a lot of voices around him and it is making him dizzy to the point of wanting to vomit. He cannot recall exactly what happened last. He recalls the charge into battle. He remembers embracing his cousin Dain at some point, feeling the tide of battle change in their favour as the elves too had joined their ranks. But then there had been that second, unexpected wave. He could curse himself for falling for such a simple trick. As their focus had been on battle before the gates of the mountain kingdom and the elves and people of Laketown concentrated on the fallen city of Dale, they - no HE !- had failed to keep an eye on the northern flank.

Suddenly his eyes do fly open through pure dread as that moment now comes flooding back to him all at once. How h and his cluster of his most trusted warriors had become cut off from the rest of the army. How he had fought with sword and axe like a berserker, but found himself outnumbered. And then …

“Fili!” he gasps air into his lungs. “Kili!” They had shielded him. _No! It cannot be! Please let it not be so!_

Fili hears the shout of his uncle among all the other noise. He cannot answer though since he has trouble breathing himself. All he can do is hold his brother’s hand and stare at his big brown orbs as Kili stares back at him.

Dwalin is instantly at Thorin’s side, squeezing his hand gently, bending down towards him. “You are awake, _Amrale izul_.” He whispers in awe, stroking a few strands of sweat soaked hair out of his lover’s face.

“Where are they?” Thorin croaks, wanting to get up, be on his feet so he can find his nephews who had fought so bravely and then had fallen before his eyes before his own world turned black. “Are they …?” he chokes on his words, not daring to think it.

“They are nearby, both injured but alive.” Dwalin softly kisses his lover’s forehead. “Just as you.”

With that news Thorin is able to relax back. “Praise Mahal …” he lets out a raspy breath and then looks at Dwalin properly for the first time. “And you? Are you hurt?”

 _My heart hurts to see you like this. “_ Only some scratches.” Dwalin gently bats a wet cloth along his lover’s cheeks, grateful to hear his voice, trying to ignore the heavy bandages around his left arm and torso.

Thorin grimaces as he tries to move himself so that he can see his lover more clearly. It feels like a thousand knives are stabbing through him. He fumbles for Dwalin’s hand and when he grabs hold of it brings it to his lips. “Thank you.”

“There is no reason to thank me.” Dwalin cannot hold the tears at bay anymore and lets them roll freely now. The gentle gesture of _his king_ kissing his hand is so overwhelming. “You led us to success.”  

“Success …” Thorin allows himself to smile a little at that. “Does that mean …?”

“Dwarves, elves and men together defeated Azog and his hordes of orc scum,” Dwalin says somewhat proudly.

“Good …” Thorin nods, then cringes. “That is good. I - I would not have… without you... " he says with effort. A sharp pain stabs through his ribcage with every intake of breath. "I would have hidden in my tomb of gold like a coward if it was not for you," he utters, turning his head in shame. "But you still loved me. You did not give up on me." He looks back to Dwalin. "You stubborn old goat," he smirks.

“Goat yourself.“ Dwalin dares to joke, grateful for Thorin’s attempt of a smirk. “How could I suddenly not love you anymore?” he then says, wincing himself when he realizes how hard it is for Thorin to breathe and to move. “I knew my true king was still in here.” He gently lays his hand onto Thorin’s chest. “I just had to try and somehow reach him under the sickness of the treasure that clouded your normally rational thinking mind.”  

“I dare not go back in there,” Thorin whispers, looking deep into Dwalin’s clear eyes. “What if … what if it will come back to haunt me again? The moment I’ll see all that _gold_ again …” Even the word seems to stir something inside him that he is now more fearful of than death itself.

Dwalin instantly notices the shift in Thorin’s voice when he says _gold_ and he almost freezes. “No need to go in there.” He resumes wiping the wet cloth across his injured king’s features, lost in thought. 

Thorin snorts. “One hundred and seventy years I have waited to enter the halls of my kingdom again and you are telling me no need to go in there? Dwalin, I am the king! I cannot not go in there! I … I will have to … somehow …” He growls in frustration. He rests his head back and squeezes his eyes closed. “Help me up. I need to see my nephews. Please.”

“I did not mean for you to never go in there again. I meant just not right now.” Dwalin amends. “You should not get up right now either.” Dwalin says firmly, glaring at his lover from under his bushy brows. “Your arm is half cut off and your chest slashed half way open...”

"So what happens now?" Thorin grumbles. "I have to lie here as you nurse my wounds and feed me grapes?" he mocks.

“Alright.” Dwalin huffs, taking Thorin’s good arm. “If yer grumpy majesty insists, let’s try and see the other two of Durin’s heroes.” He sighs. “But … ehm… they are worse than you…”  

Thorin nods, biting his tongue as Dwalin helps him to his feet. "Although I must say I'm a little disappointed. You feeding me grapes sounded quite nice."

Dwalin draws his eyebrows together, a little confused. “Ye really want me to feed ye grapes?” They slowly make their way through injured men and dwarves. “I thought ye are yearning for a good piece of boar?” Dwalin had already been considering going hunting with Bifur, the only dwarf who hadn’t got an injury.

Thorin cannot help but laugh at his friend and lover, even though it hurts his bruised body. “Let’s go and see the princes first. Then, my beloved, you can feed me whatever you like,” he smiles. “I just … I just wish for some time with you. I feel I have some making up to do.” He suddenly grabs Dwalin’s hand harder and looks at him quite seriously. “When we were on that battlefield I suddenly realised I might never get this chance again. Now that we have come out of the other side, scathed but alive, I intend to value what I have, what _we_ have, more than I have done for a long time.”

Dwalin feels a long missed warmth spread through his whole body. He grips Thorin’s hand tighter still. If they wouldn’t be among all those injured dwarrow, he’d instantly gather his precious lover into his arms and show him how much he is valued. He’s suddenly completely tongue tied. Especially since they’ve arrived at where the princes are lying.

Thorin gasps softly at the sight of his nephews, lying so pale and so still that for a moment he almost forgets that Dwalin had told him they are alive. He lets go of Dwalin’s hand and grabs Kili’s instead.

The brunet prince’s eyes fly open and they scan around wildly, still expecting danger in his injured hallucinations. “Th-Thorin?” he frowns when his vision slides slowly into focus. “You … you are alive!”

“Yes,” Thorin nods solemnly. “Thanks to you. You reckless boys!” he scolds, but with little harshness in his tone. “I could have lost you both there!”

“We were trained to defend our king.” Fili says, trying to sound strong but failing. He is barely able to open his eyes when he gives Thorin an attempt of a smile. “We succeeded.” He sighs happily.

“Yes, you did.” Thorin takes Fili’s hand in his also and brings both palms to his face. “You have proven to be my finest warriors, but I thank Mahal that he spared your lives still. Rest now until you are strong. We have won. But much work still lies ahead of us before we can sit back and rejoice in our victory.”

Dwalin can feel the fatherly love radiate from Thorin towards his nephews. All three of them so relieved that the other two are still alive. A tightly knitted family bond. Now even more so than before.

He too is overjoyed that the princes survived. They have much resting to do but they are over the worst, Oin told him. He feels pride swell in his chest, looking at these fine young warriors.

Fili already feels his eyes drift shut again, reaching for his brother’s hand. They fought side by side, back to back, now they need to come back to life together. Inseparable. 

“Thank you, Thorin,” Kili whispers, clutching onto his sibling’s hand like a lifeline. His eyes too feel heavy, but his heart feels so much lighter in the knowledge now that their effort had not been in vain. That Thorin lives, thanks to them. The king under the mountain had truly returned.

Thorin looks over the picture of the two brothers one more time, his heart filled with so much love, so much pride. Their battle wounds would become marks of honour. Their heroic actions songs passed down generations. He smiles at Dwalin. “Never since Azanulbizar has the line of Durin felt so secure. They will make fine leaders.”

Dwalin nods thoughtfully,”Yer right.” He smiles at the sleeping princes with their hands entwined. _I want to fall asleep with Thorin like that again._ Flits through his mind briefly and he looks at his beloved questioningly if they’re ready to go back to his own tent.

“Let’s walk,” Thorin says, knowing that it is not what Dwalin wants. “They have to see me,” he says before his guard has a chance to protest. “That I am alive and well. That their sacrifices have not been for nothing. Please.” He leans a little into him. “And then I promise you you will have me to yourself for a while.”

A big grin appears hidden beneath Dwalin’s large moustache. “Alright, lets show ye off to your brethren, my fine king.” He lays his arm across Thorin’s back, steadying him, but also holding him close with the feeling of never wanting to let go again. “Then you can show off to me or I to you whatever ye prefer.” He breathes into his king’s ear.”

Thorin lets out a soft moan, which could easily be mistaken for something related to his injury. But there is a sparkle back in Thorin’s eyes that has nothing to do with victory, kingship or gold and everything with the fine warrior who has never wavered from his side, not even in his darkest moments.

+++

It had been heart-warming to see his people flock to Thorin as soon as he entered the various makeshifts camps that had been set up around the perimeter of the battlefield. But the most incredible moment for all to witness was undoubtedly when the king made peace with the burglar. It was then that those of the company who had seen the curse of the gold hoard take their leader in its grip could truly breathe a sigh of relief that the old Thorin was back.

But now, after hours of talking to as many of his people as possible, to thank them for their call to arms, Thorin is utterly exhausted and he sinks down heavy onto the bed. He had felt nervous stepping back inside the walls of Erebor, but this part of the dwarven kingdom did not expose him to the cursed gold and he was relieved to find all he felt was _home_.

“Are ye satisfied with the outcome of yer little journey?” Dwalin asks softly, closing the door firmly behind them. He’s very aware that Thorin’s behaviour luckily didn’t change once they’d entered the mountain and then the king’s chambers.

He doesn’t say anything about it. Instead he states, “Ye look like ye could sleep for a week.” He steps closer to his lover and helps him out of his robe. Not the cursed robe, but the one he had been traveling in. The one where everyone recognized him as Thorin Oakenshield, king under the mountain.

Dwalin smiles, thinking how everyone of their company, dwarrow from Dain’s army and men had been glad to see him up and about, asking how he’s doing, how the princes are doing, wishing the three of them well.

“Very satisfied,” Thorin nods, unstrapping his heavy boots. “Our people have surpassed themselves. As …” he has to admit it, “as have the others. The men and women of Laketown fought well. Even the elves have redeemed themselves somewhat. Although we must not forget that neither did this out of the kindness of their hearts or their loyalty to the kingdom of Durin.” He sighs and rests back on his elbows. “But that is enough talk of politics, I am sure there are many moons of that ahead of all of us still. Now,” he cocks his head, smiling brightly at his lover, “what was this about you showing off to me?”

Dwalin will always instantly recognise the moment when Thorin switches from fearless leader, to playful lover. His whole composure changes, his smile becomes so very warm and inviting, his eyes start to devour him with unhidden hunger, his voice drops that two notches deeper even.

He feels his cock stir in his breeches at the pure invitation on the bed. Politics are over, private time begins. _Only the two of us. Only ever the two of us. No one else._

“What da ya want to see first?” he asks, inclining his head, unbuckling his heavy belt.

Thorin draws in his breath, slowly. _By my beard, how long HAS it been since we last lay together?_ The last time they had had enough privacy to enjoy each other’s company that closely had been in the strange hobbit house under the hill. That now felt like a lifetime ago. “I will not hand out any orders anymore today,” he grins. “Offer to me what you see fit, my beloved. And tell me what you would like to see in return,” he winks.

Dwalin sheds his heavy boots and then ever so slowly, carefully crawls on top of Thorin. “First, I really need this.” He bends down and softly brushes their lips together, beards tangling a little, sighing at the almost forgotten intimacy that tender motion creates. Then he darts out his tongue and tastes his lover’s lips, begging him to open up.

Thorin softly moans his approval as he lets his tongue play with Dwalin's. He'd always loved just kissing like this; something that was so simple and yet so enjoyable and romantic. For two fierce warriors as they both were, giving over to such a tender loving gesture just felt so pure. Something they'd never share with anyone else.

He winces when the pressure on his chest causes him some discomfort, but as soon as Dwalin pulls away, he grabs him and pulls him closer. "It's alright," he whispers against his rough dry lips. "Don’t you dare stop."

“Ye feel so very good, Thorin.” Dwalin roughly whispers back. “I missed this. I missed ye.” He kisses him more fully now, mouth wide open, devouring, delving his tongue inside his lover’s mouth as far as it would go. He lifts himself up on his hands, to relieve some pressure off Thorin’s chest without breaking their lip lock. Ever so slowly he grinds his groin against his king’s, loving an equally growing sword against his own.

"You have no idea.... " Thorin groans, bucking his hips a little to meet his lover's rutting. "This felt more... unattainable .... at one point," he utters through deep kisses, "than Erebor." He breaks the kiss and looks deep into Dwalin's eyes. "Words spoken by my tongue were not from my heart, lover. I am as devoted to you now as when we first made our promise."

“I know that.” Dwalin caresses Thorin’s beard. “I did not believe one word _he_ was saying. I am devoted to you too...” More deep kisses. “I just prayed ye would fight yer way back to the surface in time…” Dwalin stops mid sentence not really wanting to talk about this just now. He sits back on Thorin’s thighs and unlaces his lover’s outer tunic and under garment as well, bending down to press gentle kisses at the revealed, not bandaged skin of his chest and his collarbone.

Thorin gets the hint. He is forgiven. Now talk has to move away from regrets and onto something more fitting for the bedroom. "I have heard a lot of praise today about your weapon wielding," he grins, teasing his fingers down Dwalin's chest, peeling open his lacing. "I think I'd quite like to see that."

“Same here.” Dwalin fumbles with Thorin’s long tunic to get to the laces of his trousers and breeches. He rubs the palm of his hand appreciatively across that growing, still hidden shaft, locking his gaze with the most unique eyes he’s always admired. 

“Then get on with it,” Thorin smiles and pulls open Dwalin’s breeches, reaching his large hand inside to wrap around Dwalin’s thick sword. “Such a fine weapon,” he licks his lips, weighing that heavy member in his hand. “You want to do some sparring of our own? It has been a long time …”

“Oh Mahal!” Dwalin hisses with pleasure when he feels Thorin’s strong fingers wrap firmly around his hot member. “A very long time indeed.” He gasps and finally is able to free Thorin’s weapon, fisting it hard instantly. “Ye’ve got my very favourite weapon, my king.” He smirks, trying to pull his lover’s breeches off with his free hand.

Thorin bucks his hips up into his lover's fist, groaning deeply. "You have not lost your touch, my love," he whimpers as Dwalin pleasures him perfectly. "Strip off for me. I want to admire all of you." He would love to do it himself, but he has to acknowledge his injuries and the least movement of his upper body proves the most comfortable for now.  

“Yer wish is my command my king.” Dwalin reluctantly lets go of that fine sword and pulls both his tunics up over his head at once, bulging his muscles a little for effect. Then he swiftly gets up and rid of his breeches, standing there in the light of the many candles he has lit before, for his lover to study, broad grin on his face.

"Beautiful," Thorin says with admiration in his voice and face. He takes his time to let his eyes feast on his handsome lover, his gaze kissing each ripple of muscle, each inked mark of honour, each scar and blemish telling their long tales. "Only the very best for the king!" he chuckles then holds out his hand to invite his lover back onto the furs with him, wanting to feel all that hot gorgeous body pressed against his own.

“May I help ye undress first?” Dwalin tugs slightly at his lover’s breeches. “Need to see yer too!” He roams his hands beneath Thorin’s tunics, appreciating the hot flesh, the taut stomach muscles, careful not to touch the bandaged up chest.

Thorin nods, trying not to get too frustrated with feeling dependent on someone else's help. _Make it part of the foreplay! Enjoy it!_ And he closes his eyes to focus on the gentle touches of those hard fingers. 

Dwalin pulls at Thorin’s breeches ever so slowly, kissing each patch of freshly revealed skin. His dick throbbing more and more as he does so. He loves all that coarse hair on Thorin’s legs, lets his fingers play over his strong muscles, kissing and licking.

As he’s finished, discarding the garment on the floor, he crawls back up, until he’s reached that gorgeous sword and laps at it with his tongue. A wide wet stripe. Then he sits up, caressing Thorin’s leaking weapon with his fingers. “Yer want to keep that on to not hurt yer arm too much when pulling out of it?” He asks hesitantly, tugging slightly unsure at the blue robe.

Thorin considers this. “I intend for us to to make a mess,” he grins cheekily. “Best try and take it off.” And he begins to fumble with his good arm, wriggling it out of the sleeve, suppressing the pain shooting through his injured shoulder, using all his training as a seasoned warrior to focus on the task instead.

“Sit up, please.” Dwalin goes to the other side of the bed, gently helping to get the garment over his lover’s head and then off the injured arm. He feels Thorin’s body tense but he doesn’t give any sound. _Of course he doesn’t!_

“Yer …” Dwalin is lost for words, when he helps his beautiful king lie down again. showering the revealed healthy shoulder with kisses and fluttering touches of his lips. “Let me love ye.” He murmurs, searching Thorin’s pain filled eyes, roaming his hand across his flat tummy.

“Yes,” Thorin smiles eagerly, pulling his strong lover between his thighs. “Make love to me. It has been so long ….” He threads his legs around those rock hard calves, crashing their need together as his mouth searches for his lover’s again. His right hand traces down Dwalin’s broad back until it rests on those firm globes, squeezing them hard. His left hand, on his injured side  cups the back of his lover’s neck, pulling him into a deep snog.  

Dwalin sighs and kisses Thorin just as deeply. Feeling incredibly honoured for making love to his king first after such a long time. So much trust. He moves slowly but deliberately rubbing their swords together, causing incredible friction, to the point where he almost wants to come. He breaks the kiss to gasp into Thorin’s mouth, “Ye want more weapon sparring or rather me sinking my sword into yer sheath now?” He feels sweat gather on his temple as he says those words, leaning a little onto his side and caressing Thorin’s inner thigh, letting his hand wander more closely to his lover’s stones and behind, teasing. 

Thorin groans loudly at those teasing touches and debauched words. “I will have you penetrate me deep with that mighty sword of yours,” he growls, nipping at the thumb that is caressing his lips. He lets his legs fall open wider in invitation, his whole body now pulsing with anticipation at being filled by his lifelong lover.

 _Penetrate me deep. Oh sweet Mahal._ Dwalin swallows, swirling his thumb around in Thorin’s mouth, then pulling it out and bringing it down between Thorin’s legs and stroking the saliva covered digit across that freely shown pucker. It pulses against his finger and he presses a little more firm, loving the feeling of that almost instantly giving muscle.

“Yer breathtaking, Thorin.” He rasps when he sees the pleasure spread across his lover’s features.

“So … good …” Thorin groans, throwing his head back in the pillows again as he wriggles his backside against that gentle penetration. “More, please … Dwalin, more!” His body feels like a long dried up sponge, absorbing all these long forgotten feelings of love and lust with a desperation that is overwhelming. He whimpers softly at every rub, every twist of Dwalin’s thumb against all his hypersensitive nerve endings, in a way that no-one but his childhood lover will ever hear from his lips.

He can feel the slick trail of precum on his stomach as his prick bounces softly under his tensing muscles and he reaches down to caress his aching hardness.

Dwalin grabs for the skin filled with oil he has brought, marvelling in those noises, knowing no-one but him will ever hear. “ _Amrali mê_ , Thorin.” He murmurs very affectionately, letting a generous amount of the slippery fluid pour onto his palm and then massages it tenderly into the skin of that very responsive rose. He looks down fascinated as he’s able to push the tip of his middle finger in ever so slowly. He joins Thorin’s hand on his lover’s shaft with his slippery palm, pumping leisurely in the same rhythm as he starts to thrust his finger into Thorin’s hot, willing channel.

“Oongh.” Thorin bites his lip as he is assaulted by so much pleasure. He beams at his handsome lover, his heart singing with more joy than he had felt in years. “ _Amrali mê ya, nadad,_ ” he says firmly, his voice even deeper still in his arousal. “Enter me, my beloved. I am ready.”

Dwalin feels his cock stir heavily into action at those words, knowing Thorin can't really be ready as tight as he feels around his finger. But he can see the yearning in his eyes, the same longing he feels deep in his gut. "I will, my love." He prepares his hard sword with more oil and presses his tip against Thorin's entrance. Nerve endings catching fire as he does so. "Ohh...brother..." he presses gently in an inch.

After the real gut-wrenching pain he had endured in battle this stretch is a welcoming pleasurable type of discomfort. Thorin pulls Dwalin closer again, driving his tongue deep into his warm mouth as he rolls his hips to meet more of his lover’s sex. He knows they should probably take it slower, both for his injuries and the fact that it had been many moons since he had been filled by his lover’s generous cock. But he wants to feel all of him right now, wanting to feel that they are both alive and well enough to do this. That after all the hardship, the threats to their lives on more occasions than he cares to recall, and after what could have ended everything they had, they are here, as in love as they were as adolescents.

“You are perfect,” he groans as Dwalin moves deeper inside him. “You make me feel so very good, my love.” More wet, passionate kisses against those now full lips, red with lust.

Dwalin wants to roar with pleasure as those inner muscles of Thorin work him so thoroughly. He puts every ounce of love he feels for this dwarf into their kiss, curling his tongue passionately around Thorin's, moving his hips in a similar gesture to get as far into his beloved as possible, to have _nothing_ between them at all not even air.

He feels full. Filled by that agile tongue swirling around in his mouth, filled by that hot pulsing rod inside his most intimate place. Thorin can now only surrender completely to his lover, utter nothing more than whimpers and groans of utter delight. He had always loved bottoming for Dwalin. To relinquish all control to his strong friend, to open himself so vulnerably. It was an act of pure trust and devotion between them. But that does not diminish the fact that he also takes enormous pleasure from feeling that big shaft ride into him, steadily, rubbing over his pleasure spot if Dwalin angles himself just right.

“ _Kun!_ ” he cries out when his lover does just that, hitting him dead on as he adjusts their position slightly. “Oh Mahal, yes!” His fingertips digging into the soft flesh of his lover’s firm backside, pushing him in deeper.

"The things ye do to me...." Dwalin utters those few conscious words because he has to. "My....beloved..." He knows he's hit Thorin's pleasure spot, the way he arches against him. He feels his own climax approach. It simply has been too long. He stills grabbing Thorin's sword. "Together!".

They have fucked together for long enough to know exactly when the other is close and to work together like this. Even now, when they are both barely in control of their bodies, exhausted and burning with lust from such a long time of abstinence, they still move in unison, each spurring the other on. Thorin has but to look in Dwalin’s eyes, seeing his own desire reflected in there, to be brought to the edge as well. “Yes,” he kisses those lovely lips again, their moustaches brushing together. “Together, my loyal love.” He arches into the thrust again, seeking friction of that lovely cockhead against his pleasure core when Dwalin pulls back far enough to thrust his whole length inside him again, enough to push him into oblivion.

“Thorin!!!” Dwalin finally roars, throwing his head back. He can’t hold it in any longer when his orgasm wrecks him and he releases what feels like the amount of years of semen into his beloved’s body. He thrusts and shudders, all the while holding tight onto his lover’s throbbing shaft.

Release! Release from all the worries, all the pain, from becoming the dwarf he had always feared. As  he feels Dwalin climax deep inside him his own body shrugs off the last restraints of the king and he bellows his lover's name, shuddering as he spills thick dollops of hot seed into Dwalin's fist, painting their stomachs and chests with signs of pure joy.

Dwalin, stares at Thorin, panting as though they'd just finished a sparring session. "That...was perfect sword wielding, _nadad_." He grins down, balancing himself on one arm,  smearing Thorin's come across his abdomen. "How are ye feelin’?"

“Shattered,” Thorin smirks. “A little sore in all the right places. And _very_ much in love with the most handsome and bravest warrior Durin’s folk has ever seen.”

Dwalin smiles fondly. "I'm more in love." He feels himself slip out of his gorgeous lover. "Thank ye for coming back to me." He lies on his side, one leg entwined with Thorin's so he wont put even more pressure on the injured dwarf. He now kisses him ever so gently.

“Thank you for continuing to belief in me,” Thorin sighs, snuggling up against his lover for as far as his injuries and bandages will allow him. “It is not going to be easy. I don’t know what will happen when I step back in there …” He gazes into Dwalin’s crystal clear eyes. “But it was you who broke the spell. When I saw that hurt in your eyes … It shattered my heart into a thousand pieces. It was the thought of losing you forever that made me fight it.” He strokes his hand along Dwalin’s soft bushy beard, smiling softly. “I would rather die than see you turn from me like that ever again.”

Dwalin bows his head a little. The memory of that terrible moment when Thorin threatened to kill him slicing through him like a thousand knives. "Next time ye need to go in there I will not leave yer side. I will make sure that the sickness cannot grab ye." Dwalin gently tugs at Thorin's braid. "Yer much more valuable than all that gold in there."

 

Thorin snorts, but kisses Dwalin tenderly and then drifts off to sleep in his arms, his body finally giving in to exhaustion.

 _Ni kurde. Hikhthuzul._ Dwalin gathers his precious treasure into his arms, having the oddly, way too emotional thought of never wanting to let go again no matter what that future will bring.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ashgamruki = I apologise  
> Itlige = Forgive me  
> Khalumâ = let us make peace  
> Atlagi astû = I forgive you  
> Damummâ rakhâs bintargul = let us bleed some beardless orcs  
> Amralê izul = my true (only) love  
> Amrali mê (ya) = I love you (too)  
> Kun! = Yes!  
> Ni kurdê. Hikhthuzul. = In my heart. Always.


End file.
